[ Just as likely: improper uses of Evard's Black Tentacles. Gale is just as much of a freak as the rest of them, really.
Gale is also very helpful, though, so Iorveth goes to seek him out and relay the message that they need the most unobtrusive cleric that Gale can find. The request almost balloons into a conversation about the colorful characters that Gale has met at Blackstaff, which Iorveth volleys over to Damris, who seems a little more willing to hear the wizard out. All of this is exceedingly novel to the tiefling, after all.
With that done, Iorveth goes into the bathroom to find a washbasin that he can fill with warm water, and a few soft handtowels. He also grabs a clean shirt, a brush, and a few potions; with his tools in tow, Iorveth slinks back to where Astarion is laid out on the couch, and sets up shop.
Towels get dipped, then rubbed gently over matted silver hair. An oddly relaxing ritual, Iorveth finds. Built for violence as he is, the wood elf in him still relishes these moments of careful tending-to. ]
[ Today has been the lowest Astarion has felt in a long while, and to be touched gently and cared for after the fact feels... overwhelming. Undeserved, surely. Like he could start crying again, maybe, so he does his best to temper the feeling. He already looks like enough of a mess without adding snot into the mix.
He does, however, reach out to touch his fingertips lightly to Iorveth's wrist. ]
You would tell me if you were in terrible pain, wouldn't you?
[ Iorveth was clawed up and thrown around by a hag. He must be hurting, but he hasn't said anything. ]
[ Maybe Iorveth should portal back to Athkatla and try to kill the hag again, just for making Astarion cry. He'll consider it later, maybe when Astarion's in a better state; the only reason he hasn't buckled under all his pain is because he's so fucking furious at the reality that that wretched monster hurt Astarion the way she did.
He says as much. ] My pain is less offensive than what that fucking creature did to you. [ 'Fucking creature' is a low hiss, clicked between his teeth as if he'd like nothing better than her throat between them.
His hands remain steady, however. Careful, as if he's braiding curls instead of cleaning grime off of them. ]
The fury's taken the place of my pain. [ Reaching for a fresh towel to wipe more blood and dust off of Astarion's face, dabbing carefully at places where falling trinkets bonked him when Astarion collapsed. ] You need to worry about yourself, beloved.
[ Ha. No one in the world has ever told Astarion that he needs to think about himself more. Iorveth truly is delusional. ]
It's only a leg, darling.
[ It isn't as if he'll never walk again. It hurts like hell, but his body has been abused worse than this and still bounced back. The perks of being a vampire, he supposes. A spawn doesn't regenerate like their master, but a slow healing is healing nonetheless.
As for the rest of what happened, he's already decided to repress it. It can be swept under a rug in the back of his mind with the rest of his unpleasant memories, until one day something triggers it to resurface and he flips out on someone who doesn't deserve it. The way things are supposed to be. ]
But I couldn't turn down such tender ministrations.
[ The so-called tender ministrations continue, because it's the only thing Iorveth can do with his remaining bandwidth. Still simmering in his fury, he sets the washcloth aside to uncork a potion of healing and hold it to Astarion's lips to drink. It won't help at all in mending a broken leg, but he figures that it can alleviate some of the other aches. ]
It isn't just your leg, [ he finally says, sullen. He remembers the violent shove and the madcap scramble after Astarion woke up from being put to sleep, the state he'd found Astarion in when he'd come to from his minor concussion.
Unacceptable. He grits his teeth, still furious about it all. ]
I should go back and kill her, [ he hisses. How the fuck he'd manage that, he doesn't know, but it boils his blood to think of the hag persisting. ]
[ Astarion laughs a little, tired but amused, at Iorveth's sullen response. He adores his scowling little fox, fiercely devoted to his pack. It's light, affectionate, and then Iorveth mentions going back and he shoots up, going from horizontal to vertical in an instant. ]
Ow, godsdammit, [ is the first thing he says, because it fucking hurts to move so fast. Then— ]
Don't ever set foot in Athkatla again.
[ Commanding, demanding. He seems to realize his tone after a moment, then adds, in an attempt to soften it: ] Sweetheart.
[ Astarion, he mouths, chiding his partner for the sudden movement with a palm pressed lightly against Astarion's chest, and a little push that encourages him to settle back down onto the couch. ]
Hn. [ To the demand. Another sullen huff, clearly not happy to be discouraged. ] It rankles to think of that fucking hag persisting.
[ She'd mentioned having seen so much of Astarion's thoughts and memories, and the very notion of someone so wretched having been privy to something so private makes Iorveth want to stride upstairs and demand that Gale open a portal again.
It shows on his face, probably. His stupid, ugly, battered face. Iorveth frowns, and sits back by the side of the couch, looking up at Astarion with one hand sifting through now-cleaner silver hair. ]
I won't let any offense to you sit and remain.
[ Hmph! Maybe in a decade's time, he'll go back to Athkatla with a hireling in tow and drag the hag kicking and screaming out of her lair. ]
[ It would be sweet, if the idea weren't so distressing. Yes, of course, he loves the idea of Iorveth defending his nonexistent honor, but the thought of the hag even laying eyes on Iorveth again makes him start sweating again. He shakes his head, reaching out to wrap his fingers around Iorveth's arm, expression gravely serious. ]
I don't want you anywhere near that awful creature.
[ She wanted to skin Iorveth, might he remind him. Maybe Iorveth doesn't remember the worst of it because he was unconscious, but Astarion sure does. He'd felt very helpless then, and it makes him feel helpless now. His least favorite feeling. ]
Say that you won't. Swear it. On, ah— all the trees in the forest.
[ He doesn't know!! What do wood elves swear on. ]
[ Iorveth, the angriest version of the Lorax the multiverse will ever see, looks a little offended that Astarion is going to make him swear by the godsdamned trees that he won't go and viciously murder the creature that hurt his love－
－but, ugh, fine. Iorveth is weak to Astarion saying I want (and its more important sibling, I don't want), especially since Astarion's usual answer when being asked about what he wants is I don't know.
So, after that moment of incredulous half-exasperation: ]
...Fine. I swear on Aelirenn's honor. [ This probably means absolutely fucking nothing to Astarion, but he'll just have to take Iorveth's word for it when he says it's the most important wood elf thing he can think to swear on. ] But if she crosses paths with me, I'll not stand idly by.
[ Stubborn fox. Another soft hmph, and he takes a swig of his own potion; the angry-raw marks on his face fade a bit, mending just enough so that the parallel lines are no longer exposed and bleeding. ]
[ Who the fuck is Aelirenn, he very politely doesn't say. He just thinks it instead. It seems serious enough to Iorveth, though, so he relinquishes his grip on Iorveth's arm, letting his hands rest limply by his sides instead. ]
I don't know.
[ His favorite words, apparently. It's been three days without proper rest, and even with human blood still coursing through his system, he feels exhausted. He wants to trance, but there's a part of him that fears what he might see when he lets go of any bit of control. It's irrational. The hag doesn't know where he is, and he hasn't had a real nightmare in ages. Even knowing that, his stomach twists at the thought. ]
Perhaps I'll stay up, make sure you don't take a turn for the worse. You did get a rather nasty bonk on the head.
[ Astarion lets go, and Iorveth shifts so that he's resting sideways against the couch, not-quite-parallel and not-quite-perpendicular, legs sprawled in front of him and his shoulder to the edge of the couch cushion, head listing near Astarion's forearm. ]
A turn for the worse, [ he parrots, softly amused. ] Who knows? A blow to the head could have fixed my personality.
[ One can only hope. Iorveth is staunchly opposed to the idea of Astarion losing more rest just to make sure he doesn't get sick all over himself during the day, though, so he shakes his head (ugh, not a good idea). ]
We'll both trance properly once Gale brings the cleric over for your leg.
And your head, [ he adds, lest Iorveth forget the whole concussion that he has. Astarion isn't certain if he's brushing it off because he's Iorveth, or because he's so concussed that he doesn't realize he's concussed. Hard to know, when Iorveth claims to be fine all the time. It's irritating and charming at the same time.
He reaches out to place a hand on Iorveth's head, weak but still affectionate, petting lightly. ]
This isn't exactly how I had hoped this would go.
[ Obviously. He'd thought he'd be manic with happiness right now, but he just feels tired. ]
I had thought we would be celebrating vigorously right now.
[ Like, just to be transparent. He absolutely expected Iorveth to be naked at this point. ]
[ 'Celebrating vigorously'. A hum-laugh, and Iorveth finally lets the last of his posturing drain from his shoulders, succumbing to the pleasant feeling of Astarion's now-familiar touch. ]
Things rarely go as one hopes, love.
[ A mean, cynical statement, tempered (he hopes) by the use of that affectionate term, love. Still, Iorveth isn't quite looking to have the last word tonight, so he lets the preaching go.
Instead: ] Ambitious of you, regardless, to have assumed that you could have gotten erect after three days without rest.
[ Translation: "ain't no way you could have gotten a boner". Iorveth is the worst. ]
[ Iorveth is the worst. Astarion starts to sit up again, offended, but he quickly learns his lesson this time and settles back down, reclining. He does tug on Iorveth's ear as punishment, though. ]
For you, I could.
[ Unrealistic? Maybe. The truth of the matter doesn't change anything. Like it always is, the truth is boring. ]
Take off that hideous gambeson, and perhaps I still will.
[ He won't. Admittedly, he's in no emotional place to be taking his clothes off. And, for more practical reasons, the leg would be a real turn-off. ]
[ Oh, Astarion. A lying liar that lies, but in a way that makes Iorveth want to pick him up and squeeze him. Accepting the tug to his ear (deserved), he reaches up and pinches the bridge of Astarion's nose. Retaliatory. ]
You'd stay soft, and I'd be offended, and we'd have a row.
[ Joking. Literally none of that would happen minus the Astarion not getting an erection part, which is the only thread of truth here (again, incredibly rude). It's a funny mental image, though, especially with Gale and Damris in the other room, and Tara presumably one more strike away from expelling the two bad influences in her wizard son's life.
Iorveth relinquishes the pinch, and pets Astarion's hair. ]
[ Iorveth is the only person he'd allow to tease him in such a way. He hates being poked and prodded at, but the way Iorveth does it is affectionate, sweet in its juvenile nature. He doesn't mind being poked at all.
However: ]
It's... perhaps for the best.
[ A little faltering, as if reluctant to share but pushing through regardless. People who love each other are supposed to be honest with each other, he's pretty sure. Too bad being honest with anyone ever makes him want to jump off the nearest cliff. ]
I don't feel particularly... inclined toward that sort of thing. At the moment.
[ Before, being told that Astarion preferred not to be intimate would have made Iorveth pull away entirely, cautious of boundaries in a near-militant way. Now, he still stays within Astarion's periphery, letting his fingers sift through damp curls for one more lingering moment instead of yanking them away immediately. ]
Understandably.
[ Iorveth won't pretend that he doesn't see the outlines of that unspoken why. He's tried not to touch it, has left it well enough alone, but he ventures: ]
[ He always wants to talk about it, and he always wants to ignore it. Never happy, no matter what he does. What the hag did was awful, of course, and he feels horribly violated to have his most private thoughts breached in such a way, but conversely, it's almost a relief that someone else looked at his memories and thought that they were terrible, too. ]
I don't want you to see me in that way.
[ Iorveth has seemingly always been a fighter, holding onto his pride with white knuckles. Astarion was and is an endurer. Iorveth would probably be disgusted with the sort of things he put up with. He laughs, dry. ]
I suppose you always did say that I lacked self-respect.
[ A beat, as Iorveth takes a moment to realign himself on the floor. Perpendicular this time, legs folded, facing Astarion more properly. When he opens his mouth to speak, he knows that his opening statement won't be particularly pleasant to hear. ]
At the time, I believed you did. You tried to ingratiate me to you without warmth or sincerity.
[ Which felt insulting, and yes, self-effacing. Hardly something to lie about. ]
But I didn't know then what I know now. [ The why-s, the still-nebulous how-s. It's not that Iorveth wants Astarion to relive the specifics of his past to make a case for himself (no one is owed Astarion's anything), but: ] Do you think I would think less of you?
[ Astarion still feels a little defensive of his ingratiation. He had no idea then that Iorveth would be the first person to actually like the real him. Should he have just relied on what seemed, at the time, to require an impossible act of the gods, rather than use tried and true methods to establish himself as a party member worth protecting (and not staking)? Iorveth would probably say yes. But what does Iorveth know? He's always had a tribe of elves behind him. He doesn't know what it's like to have to navigate this world alone.
But that's not the point of all of this, so Astarion pushes the offense down for now. ]
It's just that, well, you like me so much. [ Somehow. Miraculously. But Iorveth also sees him in a way that Astarion doesn't see. He'd once called him the least helpless person he'd ever known. If he saw the Astarion that Astarion sees, he might not feel that way anymore. ] And I'd really prefer for you to keep liking me.
[ So, yes. He does think Iorveth would think less of him. ]
[ It's the privilege of having a strong foundational core: when one has something to rally oneself around, when one builds himself around an unshakeable pillar, it makes it difficult to understand why others wouldn't also be confident or sure about themselves. Iorveth, who has now molded his future to Astarion's shape, can't quite see why Astarion wouldn't have been confident enough in his character to lead with it.
A bad, obnoxious bias. It bleeds into his reaction to Astarion essentially telling him that yes, Astarion anticipates Iorveth's negative judgment. An unwarranted sense of frustration, like the aftertremors of a big quake: 'why would he think that?' ]
If knowing you more makes me like you less, [ he states flatly (probably unhelpfully), ] then I clearly don't deserve you.
[ "If I suck, dump me," says the man who was proposed to just upwards of 24 hours ago. He has to be setting some sort of record, here. ]
[ Affronted: ] I don't care if you deserve me. I care if you like me.
[ He's not beating the lack of self-respect allegations today. Or ever, probably. Astarion's reaction to Iorveth's words is immediate, an instant raising of his hackles, puffing up like a threatened kitten. He just opened up about his deep, dark fear that Iorveth won't love him anymore after hearing about the things he did and that were done to him, and Iorveth responded if I suck, dump me, as if losing this relationship isn't the worst thing that could ever happen to him.
Astarion should be mature and not expect Iorveth to coddle him. He should probably say something like it upsets me when you say things like that, and then they could have a productive conversation. Instead, he undertakes the difficult task of turning himself away from Iorveth, wincing as he does so. ]
I don't want to talk about it, anyway. Why don't you go make sure that Dennis [ still Damris ] hasn't murdered our friend?
[ Iorveth could also stop taking it for granted that Astarion understands him, and be nice for once and speak the given into existence. "I love you no matter what" will never be a lie, even if he'd prefer that Astarion knew of Iorveth's unconditionality implicitly. It doesn't help to strongarm someone into having self-worth, but again― there are things that Iorveth simply doesn't grasp properly.
Which is why "I don't care if you deserve me, I care if you like me" feels deeply troubling: Iorveth's kneejerk mental response is "you actually shouldn't settle", but watching Astarion bristle and turn away is―
―well, it's sad. A juvenile term for something far more complicated. It makes Iorveth sit up, unfolding his legs to scoot and kneel closer to the edge of the bed, palm between Astarion's shoulderblades. ]
Astarion. [ As gentle as a man like Iorveth can manage. ] Look at me.
[ Astarion considers being cruel. He thinks it would wound Iorveth deeply if he told him not to touch him and sent him away, and that might make Astarion feel better for a fraction of a second. After that fraction of a second, though, he'd feel even worse, so he pushes the urge away. That counts as personal growth, probably.
He also thinks that the Iorveth of the past would probably have left upon being told to, and it would be fair to reward him for realizing that Astarion doesn't actually want him to go at all, and that when he pushes Iorveth away he actually wants Iorveth to come closer. (On the other hand, he should probably be punished for encouraging this sort of immature, emotionally constipated behavior, but Astarion won't be the one to do it.)
It was laborious to turn away, and it's laborious to turn back toward Iorveth. It does hurt a little, and he makes sure to say, ] Ow, [ in the most pathetic way and with the most pathetic expression he can muster so that Iorveth feels bad for him. Once a manipulator, always a manipulator. ]
[ Iorveth, who has experienced his own brand of being used and abused, who has vowed never again to allow someone to bend him to their own agenda, has a bad habit that he can't kick: he finds an exception, and gives them everything.
On some level, he recognizes that Astarion plays into that permissiveness. But the manipulation is benign (to him), and despite all of Iorveth's cynicism, he still naively trusts Astarion not to hurt him. Not like the queen of the forests who bartered with his life, or the man who he loved and lost, or the dragon who never had emotional stakes in Iorveth's service. Astarion is different. He's not like anyone Iorveth has ever met.
And, he'd argue, his trust is justified. Case in point: Astarion doesn't tell him to fuck off, and he softens despite the melodrama of that ow. ]
Beloved. [ Smoothing a thumb over Astarion's cheek, under one of those big, sad eyes. ] You could have burned Neverwinter down in the past, and I'd not love you less for it.
[ Bad example: Neverwinter was decimated in recent history. But the point stands, and it's also heard by Gale, who balks a little and clears his throat at the foot of the stairs leading into the sitting room. ]
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Gale is also very helpful, though, so Iorveth goes to seek him out and relay the message that they need the most unobtrusive cleric that Gale can find. The request almost balloons into a conversation about the colorful characters that Gale has met at Blackstaff, which Iorveth volleys over to Damris, who seems a little more willing to hear the wizard out. All of this is exceedingly novel to the tiefling, after all.
With that done, Iorveth goes into the bathroom to find a washbasin that he can fill with warm water, and a few soft handtowels. He also grabs a clean shirt, a brush, and a few potions; with his tools in tow, Iorveth slinks back to where Astarion is laid out on the couch, and sets up shop.
Towels get dipped, then rubbed gently over matted silver hair. An oddly relaxing ritual, Iorveth finds. Built for violence as he is, the wood elf in him still relishes these moments of careful tending-to. ]
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He does, however, reach out to touch his fingertips lightly to Iorveth's wrist. ]
You would tell me if you were in terrible pain, wouldn't you?
[ Iorveth was clawed up and thrown around by a hag. He must be hurting, but he hasn't said anything. ]
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He says as much. ] My pain is less offensive than what that fucking creature did to you. [ 'Fucking creature' is a low hiss, clicked between his teeth as if he'd like nothing better than her throat between them.
His hands remain steady, however. Careful, as if he's braiding curls instead of cleaning grime off of them. ]
The fury's taken the place of my pain. [ Reaching for a fresh towel to wipe more blood and dust off of Astarion's face, dabbing carefully at places where falling trinkets bonked him when Astarion collapsed. ] You need to worry about yourself, beloved.
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It's only a leg, darling.
[ It isn't as if he'll never walk again. It hurts like hell, but his body has been abused worse than this and still bounced back. The perks of being a vampire, he supposes. A spawn doesn't regenerate like their master, but a slow healing is healing nonetheless.
As for the rest of what happened, he's already decided to repress it. It can be swept under a rug in the back of his mind with the rest of his unpleasant memories, until one day something triggers it to resurface and he flips out on someone who doesn't deserve it. The way things are supposed to be. ]
But I couldn't turn down such tender ministrations.
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It isn't just your leg, [ he finally says, sullen. He remembers the violent shove and the madcap scramble after Astarion woke up from being put to sleep, the state he'd found Astarion in when he'd come to from his minor concussion.
Unacceptable. He grits his teeth, still furious about it all. ]
I should go back and kill her, [ he hisses. How the fuck he'd manage that, he doesn't know, but it boils his blood to think of the hag persisting. ]
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Ow, godsdammit, [ is the first thing he says, because it fucking hurts to move so fast. Then— ]
Don't ever set foot in Athkatla again.
[ Commanding, demanding. He seems to realize his tone after a moment, then adds, in an attempt to soften it: ] Sweetheart.
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Hn. [ To the demand. Another sullen huff, clearly not happy to be discouraged. ] It rankles to think of that fucking hag persisting.
[ She'd mentioned having seen so much of Astarion's thoughts and memories, and the very notion of someone so wretched having been privy to something so private makes Iorveth want to stride upstairs and demand that Gale open a portal again.
It shows on his face, probably. His stupid, ugly, battered face. Iorveth frowns, and sits back by the side of the couch, looking up at Astarion with one hand sifting through now-cleaner silver hair. ]
I won't let any offense to you sit and remain.
[ Hmph! Maybe in a decade's time, he'll go back to Athkatla with a hireling in tow and drag the hag kicking and screaming out of her lair. ]
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I don't want you anywhere near that awful creature.
[ She wanted to skin Iorveth, might he remind him. Maybe Iorveth doesn't remember the worst of it because he was unconscious, but Astarion sure does. He'd felt very helpless then, and it makes him feel helpless now. His least favorite feeling. ]
Say that you won't. Swear it. On, ah— all the trees in the forest.
[ He doesn't know!! What do wood elves swear on. ]
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－but, ugh, fine. Iorveth is weak to Astarion saying I want (and its more important sibling, I don't want), especially since Astarion's usual answer when being asked about what he wants is I don't know.
So, after that moment of incredulous half-exasperation: ]
...Fine. I swear on Aelirenn's honor. [ This probably means absolutely fucking nothing to Astarion, but he'll just have to take Iorveth's word for it when he says it's the most important wood elf thing he can think to swear on. ] But if she crosses paths with me, I'll not stand idly by.
[ Stubborn fox. Another soft hmph, and he takes a swig of his own potion; the angry-raw marks on his face fade a bit, mending just enough so that the parallel lines are no longer exposed and bleeding. ]
...Do you think you can trance tonight?
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I don't know.
[ His favorite words, apparently. It's been three days without proper rest, and even with human blood still coursing through his system, he feels exhausted. He wants to trance, but there's a part of him that fears what he might see when he lets go of any bit of control. It's irrational. The hag doesn't know where he is, and he hasn't had a real nightmare in ages. Even knowing that, his stomach twists at the thought. ]
Perhaps I'll stay up, make sure you don't take a turn for the worse. You did get a rather nasty bonk on the head.
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A turn for the worse, [ he parrots, softly amused. ] Who knows? A blow to the head could have fixed my personality.
[ One can only hope. Iorveth is staunchly opposed to the idea of Astarion losing more rest just to make sure he doesn't get sick all over himself during the day, though, so he shakes his head (ugh, not a good idea). ]
We'll both trance properly once Gale brings the cleric over for your leg.
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He reaches out to place a hand on Iorveth's head, weak but still affectionate, petting lightly. ]
This isn't exactly how I had hoped this would go.
[ Obviously. He'd thought he'd be manic with happiness right now, but he just feels tired. ]
I had thought we would be celebrating vigorously right now.
[ Like, just to be transparent. He absolutely expected Iorveth to be naked at this point. ]
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Things rarely go as one hopes, love.
[ A mean, cynical statement, tempered (he hopes) by the use of that affectionate term, love. Still, Iorveth isn't quite looking to have the last word tonight, so he lets the preaching go.
Instead: ] Ambitious of you, regardless, to have assumed that you could have gotten erect after three days without rest.
[ Translation: "ain't no way you could have gotten a boner". Iorveth is the worst. ]
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For you, I could.
[ Unrealistic? Maybe. The truth of the matter doesn't change anything. Like it always is, the truth is boring. ]
Take off that hideous gambeson, and perhaps I still will.
[ He won't. Admittedly, he's in no emotional place to be taking his clothes off. And, for more practical reasons, the leg would be a real turn-off. ]
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You'd stay soft, and I'd be offended, and we'd have a row.
[ Joking. Literally none of that would happen minus the Astarion not getting an erection part, which is the only thread of truth here (again, incredibly rude). It's a funny mental image, though, especially with Gale and Damris in the other room, and Tara presumably one more strike away from expelling the two bad influences in her wizard son's life.
Iorveth relinquishes the pinch, and pets Astarion's hair. ]
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However: ]
It's... perhaps for the best.
[ A little faltering, as if reluctant to share but pushing through regardless. People who love each other are supposed to be honest with each other, he's pretty sure. Too bad being honest with anyone ever makes him want to jump off the nearest cliff. ]
I don't feel particularly... inclined toward that sort of thing. At the moment.
[ He doesn't include why. ]
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Understandably.
[ Iorveth won't pretend that he doesn't see the outlines of that unspoken why. He's tried not to touch it, has left it well enough alone, but he ventures: ]
Do you wish to speak about it?
[ Just in case. ]
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[ He always wants to talk about it, and he always wants to ignore it. Never happy, no matter what he does. What the hag did was awful, of course, and he feels horribly violated to have his most private thoughts breached in such a way, but conversely, it's almost a relief that someone else looked at his memories and thought that they were terrible, too. ]
I don't want you to see me in that way.
[ Iorveth has seemingly always been a fighter, holding onto his pride with white knuckles. Astarion was and is an endurer. Iorveth would probably be disgusted with the sort of things he put up with. He laughs, dry. ]
I suppose you always did say that I lacked self-respect.
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At the time, I believed you did. You tried to ingratiate me to you without warmth or sincerity.
[ Which felt insulting, and yes, self-effacing. Hardly something to lie about. ]
But I didn't know then what I know now. [ The why-s, the still-nebulous how-s. It's not that Iorveth wants Astarion to relive the specifics of his past to make a case for himself (no one is owed Astarion's anything), but: ] Do you think I would think less of you?
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But that's not the point of all of this, so Astarion pushes the offense down for now. ]
It's just that, well, you like me so much. [ Somehow. Miraculously. But Iorveth also sees him in a way that Astarion doesn't see. He'd once called him the least helpless person he'd ever known. If he saw the Astarion that Astarion sees, he might not feel that way anymore. ] And I'd really prefer for you to keep liking me.
[ So, yes. He does think Iorveth would think less of him. ]
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A bad, obnoxious bias. It bleeds into his reaction to Astarion essentially telling him that yes, Astarion anticipates Iorveth's negative judgment. An unwarranted sense of frustration, like the aftertremors of a big quake: 'why would he think that?' ]
If knowing you more makes me like you less, [ he states flatly (probably unhelpfully), ] then I clearly don't deserve you.
[ "If I suck, dump me," says the man who was proposed to just upwards of 24 hours ago. He has to be setting some sort of record, here. ]
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[ He's not beating the lack of self-respect allegations today. Or ever, probably. Astarion's reaction to Iorveth's words is immediate, an instant raising of his hackles, puffing up like a threatened kitten. He just opened up about his deep, dark fear that Iorveth won't love him anymore after hearing about the things he did and that were done to him, and Iorveth responded if I suck, dump me, as if losing this relationship isn't the worst thing that could ever happen to him.
Astarion should be mature and not expect Iorveth to coddle him. He should probably say something like it upsets me when you say things like that, and then they could have a productive conversation. Instead, he undertakes the difficult task of turning himself away from Iorveth, wincing as he does so. ]
I don't want to talk about it, anyway. Why don't you go make sure that Dennis [ still Damris ] hasn't murdered our friend?
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Which is why "I don't care if you deserve me, I care if you like me" feels deeply troubling: Iorveth's kneejerk mental response is "you actually shouldn't settle", but watching Astarion bristle and turn away is―
―well, it's sad. A juvenile term for something far more complicated. It makes Iorveth sit up, unfolding his legs to scoot and kneel closer to the edge of the bed, palm between Astarion's shoulderblades. ]
Astarion. [ As gentle as a man like Iorveth can manage. ] Look at me.
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He also thinks that the Iorveth of the past would probably have left upon being told to, and it would be fair to reward him for realizing that Astarion doesn't actually want him to go at all, and that when he pushes Iorveth away he actually wants Iorveth to come closer. (On the other hand, he should probably be punished for encouraging this sort of immature, emotionally constipated behavior, but Astarion won't be the one to do it.)
It was laborious to turn away, and it's laborious to turn back toward Iorveth. It does hurt a little, and he makes sure to say, ] Ow, [ in the most pathetic way and with the most pathetic expression he can muster so that Iorveth feels bad for him. Once a manipulator, always a manipulator. ]
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On some level, he recognizes that Astarion plays into that permissiveness. But the manipulation is benign (to him), and despite all of Iorveth's cynicism, he still naively trusts Astarion not to hurt him. Not like the queen of the forests who bartered with his life, or the man who he loved and lost, or the dragon who never had emotional stakes in Iorveth's service. Astarion is different. He's not like anyone Iorveth has ever met.
And, he'd argue, his trust is justified. Case in point: Astarion doesn't tell him to fuck off, and he softens despite the melodrama of that ow. ]
Beloved. [ Smoothing a thumb over Astarion's cheek, under one of those big, sad eyes. ] You could have burned Neverwinter down in the past, and I'd not love you less for it.
[ Bad example: Neverwinter was decimated in recent history. But the point stands, and it's also heard by Gale, who balks a little and clears his throat at the foot of the stairs leading into the sitting room. ]
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ok iorveth is serving a bit in that pic
i'm gonna be so mad if he's in witcher 4 and they make him pretty
do NOT defreak my elf
slaps a 'do not yassify' on iorveth (but also upgrade him from xbox graphics i beg)
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